13. Shopping
Shopping
JON
Cooper had gripped my forearm before ducking into the restroom, asking me to stay close. I’d told him I wasn’t going anywhere, and I meant it. My shoes were practically glued to the linoleum. I wasn’t moving an inch.
I waited right where he’d left me, keeping watch near the restrooms while he was inside splashing his face with ice-cold water to fight off the fatigue.
To keep my mind from spiraling, I stared at the family-sized packs of cookies by the shop entrance.
The cookies weren’t even Christmassy, but something about their shape threw me back two years to the time I decorated gingerbread with the Taylor brothers.
* * *
“You’re not decorating,” Cooper pointed out. He was standing so close that I felt his breath on my skin.
“I’m observing this slightly burnt cookie,” I told him.
Jack snorted. “Dude, you scared of sprinkles or something?”
“I’m not scared.”
I hadn’t decorated anything before, so I felt a little out of my depth. I’d learned early on that playing with food and making a mess were luxuries reserved for kids who were actually wanted.
“Prove it,” Cooper said, buzzing with enthusiasm. Or maybe it was the sugar. He’d eaten more cookies than he’d decorated.
I sighed and reached for the frosting.
Jack grabbed a handful of sprinkles and dumped them directly onto one of his own cookies.
“This is how art is made,” he said.
“Sorry, Jack, but that’s not art. That’s an accident,” Cooper commented, making me laugh.
“It’s abstract art.”
“If abstract means abysmal, then yes.”
I ignored their bickering and carefully spread a thin layer of frosting across the cookie.
“This isn’t surgery,” Cooper murmured, watching my every move.
“Maybe not, but I think this cookie could be improved with structure.”
“And you could be improved with fun.”
Before I could respond, he reached past me and grabbed the sprinkle jar. His arm grazed mine and stayed there.
I tried to focus on the cookie.
“Here,” he said, tipping the jar. Too many sprinkles poured out.
“Cooper—”
“Trust the process.”
“I would if you had one.”
I set the sprinkle jar down before he could make things worse.
Jack wheezed. “That cookie needs therapy.”
I looked at it. My careful layer of icing was completely buried under Cooper’s sprinkle mayhem.
“Jon’s cookie looks better than all of yours combined,” Cooper said immediately.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Jack argued.
I glanced at Cooper. He had frosting on his face. A small streak of white along his cheekbone. Without thinking, I picked up a sprinkle and carefully pressed it into the frosting. My thumb brushed his skin. His breathing faltered—and then he went completely still.
“There,” I said, clearing my throat. “Now you’re decorated for Christmas.”
He looked at me like I had just chosen him.
Fuck.
I dropped my hand like I’d been burned. What was I playing at, touching him like that? The last thing he needed was me encouraging his childish crush.
“Thank you, Jon,” Cooper said, and the quiet happiness in his voice gave me a pang of dread.
Jack looked between us, but didn’t say anything.
* * *
Cooper came back to my side, his eyes darting around like everything he saw was of utmost importance. His face was flushed, damp from the cold water. His curls clung slightly to his forehead.
“You’re beautiful,” I heard myself say. Shit.
He stared at me.
“Raisins!” I was relieved to remember our task. “We’re here for the raisins.”
“Yes,” Cooper said, nodding. “Raisins—oh look, candy!” Looking delighted, he pointed at the colorful candy bags.
“You have a bag full of candy in the car.”
He blinked, leaning closer. His lashes were still wet, and his lips were slightly parted. There was something intentional in his innocence, something very Cooper-coded.
“But Jon . . .” His tongue darted out to lick his own lower lip. “I need more.”
Then he just looked at me, daring me to react. With my eyes locked on his, I grabbed a basket. Very slowly, his mouth curved into a knowing smirk.
A heady rush washed over me.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” I said roughly.
His brows lifted in mock innocence. “Doing what?”
“The—” I gestured between us. “This.”
He tilted his head, stepping closer. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”
God. He was testing me. And the worst part? I was letting him. No, that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was . . . I fucking loved it.
“Don’t lie to me, Coop. I know you’re playing with me,” I said.
His confidence slipped, and something uncertain, almost fragile, flickered across his face like maybe he wasn’t sure I’d play along.
That vulnerability felt more dangerous than all his little games.
It told me he was afraid I would once again walk away.
How I wanted to tell him I’d never walked away, not in the way he thought.
But then the uncertainty was gone from his face, replaced with another teasing smile.
“You know what?” he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to touch my jaw. “You caught me.”
My hand tightened around the basket. Trying to steady my breathing, I picked up the next thing he pointed at. Just dropped it in the basket without looking at the price.
“Brat,” I muttered. It came out wrong, all soft and approving. He checked me over his shoulder.
“You’re the one putting things in the basket,” he said, his mouth twitching until he couldn’t hold back the smug smile spreading on his face. “That makes you a brat enabler.”
He was absolutely right.
We found the raisins eventually. Three bags were left on a shelf stacked with energy bars and, interestingly, heat suppressants. I ignored those and grabbed all three bags. Cooper watched me as if I’d just slain a dragon and brought him its head.
“You’re getting all of them?” He was practically vibrating with anticipation.
I nodded.
“For me?”
I didn’t even hesitate.
“Yes,” I said huskily. His fingers brushed mine, and suddenly buying three bags of raisins felt like a heroic achievement.
A woman walked past us with her kid. She glanced at me, then steered her kid away, muttering something about “troublemakers.”
Cooper noticed.
“Excuse me!” he said loudly. “You dropped your unwanted opinions.” The woman turned sharply, her mouth open to snap back, but I stepped directly into her line of sight.
I didn’t say a word. I just stood at my full height, shielding Cooper behind me, and leveled a cold glare at her until the color drained from her face.
She grabbed her kid’s hand and sprinted down the aisle.
I reached back, my hand locking firmly around the nape of Cooper’s neck, my thumb stroking the sensitive skin right over where I felt his pulse. “Don’t run your mouth to strangers,” I muttered roughly. “Let’s grab sandwiches, you need to eat.”
But that’s when he spotted the stuffed animal section.
“Fuck no,” I said, but he was already walking toward the shelves like something was pulling him. He reached up, tugging down a giant plush monkey. It flopped into his arms, and he buried his face in it with a soft, pleased sound.
I felt that sound in my chest.
He held the toy up for closer inspection.
“This looks like those ugly monkeys from one of your games,” he said happily.
“All my characters are human.”
“Hmm. Tell it to the zookeeper.”
He hugged the stupid monkey tighter before looking at me. He knew exactly how this was going to end.
So did I.
“You’re not subtle.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
We got a cart.
“Jon.”
“No.”
“I didn’t even say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I just—” A sigh.
“Okay. What is it?”
He pointed at the blankets. “I need to be cozy.”
I noticed a pile of weighted blankets that promised to “bring Omegas the comfort they deserve,” but Cooper ignored them.
“These might feel good,” I suggested, gesturing at them, but Cooper crossed his arms.
“But those are Omega blankets,” he pouted. “I want the pretty lilac one.”
“Fine,” I said. “The lilac one it is.”
We’d barely made it to the next aisle.
“Jon.”
I prayed for strength.
“Yes, Cooper.”
He held up a colorful bracelet kit.
“Absolutely not.”
“But I want to make you one. As a thank-you.”
I paused, my heart doing a slow, heavy roll.
“As a thank-you for what?”
“For buying it,” he replied, then snorted as if he had just made the funniest joke. I shook my head, but I was fooling no one. A smile was tugging at my mouth.
Cooper stepped closer.
“Would you wear it?” he asked, tilting his head. There was genuine expectation in his eyes.
“I . . .” I glanced at my inked wrists. A bracelet made of plastic beads would look fucking ridiculous. “Yeah. I’d wear it.”
The delight on his face made me stupidly happy. “Then I need it.”
The cashier raised an eyebrow.
“Birthday?” she asked.
Cooper was wrapped in the blanket, clutching the monkey, already opening the raisins. Completely pleased with himself.
Completely mine to care for, apparently.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and confirmed my growing suspicions about what was going on. With both of us.
“Something like that,” I muttered, tapping my card.
As we walked out into the humid air, I realized I felt happy. An almost fierce sense of satisfaction settled over me. My bank account was lighter, the cart was full of nonsense, but Cooper was content. And that felt like the only thing that mattered.